


Command

by CastellanGarak



Series: The Way He Speaks [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Cloacal Sex, Humiliation kink, M/M, Uniform Kink, being assholes to each other, but what's new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 16:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13814901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastellanGarak/pseuds/CastellanGarak
Summary: prompt: military kink, unusual positions“This is an… interesting… position,” Dukat says, bracing himself on his arms.“Mmhmm,” Garak says abstently, “Have to make sure the armor doesn’t get in the way.”“Ah,” Dukat says. “Put a lot of thought into this, did you?”





	Command

**Author's Note:**

> thanks, as ever, to my lovely beta <3

Dukat has nearly finished putting on his clothes. He just needs his damned boots. The problem was, they had somehow migrated beneath the coffee table, and Dukat’s throbbing head does not relish having to bend over far enough to get it. But bend over he does, searching with fingertips first, feeling about until they reach the boots, and close upon the leather. ‘Success!’ Dukat thinks. ‘Good job, me.’ Mission accomplished, he comes out from under the table. Straightening up, he bangs his already aching head. 

 

“Ow, fuck,” Dukat says mournfully, falling across the couch in self pity, clutching his head. And then he hears a rustling and a high pitched whining, and jerks back up, forcing his eyes open, to see Garak sitting up in bed, pointing a phaser at him. Dukat looks over his shoulder to the entryway table, upon which a phaser still sits. He looks back to the phaser in Garak’s hands. “How… many of those do you have in here?” he asks tentatively. Garak huffs, and powers down the phaser. 

 

“Get your bare ass off my couch, Skrain.” 

 

Dukat looks down at his naked lap. “Oh,” he says, sounding dazed but not terribly surprised. “I could have sworn I had put on my pants.”

 

“Obviously not,” Garak snaps, putting the phaser down getting out of bed. He limps towards the ensuite, leaving the door open as he rummages around. 

 

Dukat hums in amusement, “Someone’s sore today.” 

 

Garak pops his head out of the bathroom. “I’ll show you sore,” he says around his toothbrush, the menace of his tone therefore ruined.

 

“Oh?” Dukat says, intrigued. “Is that a promise? You can hardly walk.”

 

“Stop exaggerating, I’m barely limping.” 

 

“Still. I’d be impressed if you could manage, this early in the morning, on so little sleep.” 

 

“Dukat, do not test me. I have to get to work in an hour.”

 

“What happened to ‘Skrain’?” Dukat asks teasingly.

 

“Do  _ not _ hold me accountable for things I say after first waking up,” Garak grumbles.

 

“Aww, but it’s  _ fun _ . I should stay over again next time, see what other interesting things you’ll say.”

 

Garak spits, and puts his toothbrush back in the holder. “There _ is _ no next time. There should never have been a  _ this  _ time.”

 

“Oh, this again?”

 

“Dukat, I am going to shower, and by the time I get back out here, you’d better be gone.”

 

“And if I’m not?” Dukat asks archly. 

 

Garak opens his medicine cabinet and pulls out a phaser, turning it on and letting it whine to make his point for him.

 

“Ok, honestly, how many of those do you have in here??” Dukat asks, alarmed.

 

Garak shuts the door, puts the phaser away, and gets in the shower.

 

\----

 

Garak finishes his shower and puts on his bathrobe, then puts his hand on the door. He doesn’t know if Dukat is still out there, and he doesn’t know if he hopes he is or not. Garak scolds himself. Of course he doesn’t  _ hope _ he’s there. Ridiculous.

 

He opens the door. Dukat is there. Garak feels a rush of relief, followed by a consequent rush of anger. He storms to the couch and yanks Dukat off of it. Dukat yelps, but his military instilled instincts allow him to control the fall. He lands in a decent stance, then looks up at Garak, eyeridges scrunching.

 

“At least you’ve put your pants back on,” Garak says, and is surprised by how deep his voice comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. “But now I’ve got to take them off again.”

 

“Oh?” Dukat asks, “Going to ‘show me’ after all?”

 

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

Dukat laughs, a rumbling purr, and grins up at him, fanning the flames of the infuriating mix of anger and lust that’s been set roiling in Garak's gut. 

 

Ever since the Gul inserted himself into Garak's, rather barren, sex life, he has made Garak feel things more often he ever had before, and Garak was unable to suppress his stronger emotions as well as he once had. He must be getting old, he should feel nothing but contempt; it’s shameful.

 

Garak’s lip curls up in disgust, and he drops to his knees, tugs Dukat’s boots off, then his socks, and throws them all under the coffee table. He enjoys Dukat’s ensuing wince immensely. Garak pushes him onto his back, gets between his legs and unzips his fly, starts to pull his pants down. “Oh,” he says, when his eyes land on Dukat’s groin, and sees that he’s already starting to evert. His eyes snap up to Dukat’s, only to find him watching in hungry anticipation. It suddenly hits Garak, that this is exactly what Dukat had wanted, from the start. He had come back for more, gotten it not _ exactly _ how he wanted, and then stuck around to goad Garak into fucking him properly.

 

Garak shouldn’t give him what he wants (for the third time). Garak should get dressed and go. There was business to go through on his work padd. But Garak  _ wants _ . He had said there wouldn’t be a next time, and this wasn’t one, not really. It’s still lumped in with _ this  _ time. Garak has until Dukat leaves the room to get it out of his system. Dukat’s still wearing his armor, and Garak wants to fulfill that fantasy now rather than never. At least doing it now lets him kick the oaf out after.

 

Garak wrenches Dukat’s pants the rest of the way off, and slips out of his bathrobe, throwing it onto the couch. “You could have done that to my clothes, too,” Dukat mutters under his breath, irked.

 

“Shut up,” Garak says, and arranges Dukat how he wants him, manhandling him onto his side, back against the foot of the couch. Garak lifts his right leg up, straddling the other.

 

“This is an… interesting… position,” Dukat says, bracing himself on his arms.

 

“Mmhmm,” Garak says abstently, “Have to make sure the armor doesn’t get in the way.”

 

“Ah,” Dukat says. “Put a lot of thought into this, did you?”

 

Garak bites him hard on the thigh, and Dukat hisses in pain, and then grins at him. “A sore point, I see.”

 

“Dukat, I swear,” Garak says, and then rests his leg on his shoulder.

 

“Oof,” Dukat says, wincing at the stretch. “I’ll get real sore real fast if you expect me to hold this position for any period of time.”

 

“Mmm, guess I can manage to make you sore after all,” Garak says smugly.

 

“This is cheating.”

 

“I can do it the old fashioned way too,” Garak says, winking at him, and then shifts his gaze to Dukat’s groin. He has by now fully everted. Garak slips a finger inside his moist passage to see if he’s wet enough, and the answer is not  _ quite _ .

 

But Garak does not think he can wait. He has wanted this for--well, it does not matter. He’s getting it now, and he is a patient man, but he is, after all, only a man. Restless, Garak crooks his finger towards Dukat’s chuva, Dukat twitches. He removes the digit and wipes it on Dukat's thigh.  _ It would be a shame to dirty the carpet _ . He resettles his weight, nudges the tip peeking out of his own slit into Dukat's, and lets himself begin to bloom. He watches as his everting prUt pushes into Dukat’s ill prepared channel.

 

Dukat makes a pained noise, and glares up at him. “Shhhh,” Garak says, dropping a kiss onto his knee, and begins to thrust in earnest.    

 

“Garak, you  _ asshole _ ,” Dukat says, so plaintively, that a laugh is startled out of Garak. Dukat bristles, outraged. “Oh, yes, very funny.” 

 

“Dukat shut up, I’ll drop your leg,” Garak says, voice strained.

 

“Yes, and we wouldn’t want  _ that _ , would we?” Dukat asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. Garak tries to stifle another laugh but it comes out anyway, in a restrained snort.

 

Dukat looks at him in shock, and then his lips quirk up in a fond smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard such an undignified sound from you.” His soft expression makes Garak uncomfortable, and he fucks into Dukat harder to make him stop.

 

Dukat does, dropping his head and moaning. Garak looks at his face, twisted up in a burning sort of pleasure-pain. He then looks to his torso, wrapped neatly in armor, and feels orgasm approaching too quickly. But he refuses to come this soon, after Dukat had mocked him for it just last night. Unless… he can get Dukat to come before him. Then he won’t have anything to lord over Garak.

 

“You went out for drinks last night,” Garak begins, voice rasping.

 

“Garak, by the Union, do you have to talk  _ all _ the time?” 

 

“Crew finally invite you out?” Garak asks, ignoring his jibe. “Or did you drink with nobody but the dabo girls and Quark for company?” 

 

“Garak-” 

 

“You know they don’t  _ really _ like you, right? They’re just paid to act like it?”

 

Dukat remains silent, looking at him mutinously. 

 

“Oh, didn’t even do that, did they? Don’t get paid enough to even  _ pretend _ to like you? How s-”

 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Dukat hisses, slamming his fist against the ground. And then he tenses up, shudders against the floor, and comes. Garak follows soon after, spilling inside the warm purse with a sigh. He rests there for a moment, chufa pressed to Dukat’s calf, and then he pulls out, squelching and dragging a dribbling mess out of the slit. He lowers Dukat’s leg to the ground.

 

Dukat winces, then glares at Garak. “Why can’t you be normal?”

 

Garak shrugs lazily. “Why can’t you?” He grabs a tissue from the coffee table as he walks over to the wardrobe, to select an outfit. He wipes off his finger and scoops up the come his prUt had left on his slit as it slid back inside garaks body. 

 

“What, done already?” Dukat asks.

 

“Mmm,” Garak says disinterestedly, pulling a shirt on and fastening it, then smoothing it down. “I told you, I have to go to work.” He puts on some underthings, pulling some pants on over them, and then slides socks and shoes on. He enters the bathroom to toss away the tissue and give his hands a wash.

 

When he is finished, Dukat is still sat on the floor, pants off, staring at him in bewilderment. “What are you doing?” Garak asks. “Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

 

“I… I thought there’d be more,” Dukat says, sounding genuinely stunned.

 

It sends a thrill through Garak, and he takes a breath to calm himself. “Oh. Still on about that? Sorry to disappoint,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.

 

Dukat’s lip curls. Garak smiles at him innocently. “Well, I’m off. Let yourself out whenever you feel like it. Oh, and... don’t make a mess of my quarters.”

  
Dukat does, angry and spiteful. It makes him feel better, knowing the fussy tailor will come home to see his wardrobe upended, clothes strewn across the floor. A phaser falls out, and Dukat rolls his eyes. He really  _ would _ like to know how many Garak is hiding in here, but that’ll wait for next time. He’s sure of it. 


End file.
